


Stuck at Hogwarts

by ejr



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hogwarts, Canon harry potter rules? dont know them, Comfort, Fluff, Friendship, Gen, M/M, Modern Era, Multi, its only teen and up for swearing, muggleborn grantaire, quarantine au, teens being silly teens, Éponine and Grantaire are siblings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-03
Updated: 2020-06-03
Packaged: 2021-03-04 07:07:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,341
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24529618
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ejr/pseuds/ejr
Summary: When new quarantine rules are announced at Hogwarts, Grantaire finds himself having trouble navigating his new reality. Quidditch is cancelled, they aren't allowed to go to Hogsmede anymore, and the N.E.W.T.s that decide their fate after Hogwarts are still quickly approaching. Grantaire struggles to keep his own magical powers hidden as he dons the responsibility of managing panic in Gryffindor house.At the same time, Grantaire is delighted and nervous to become friends with the last Gryffindor he'd ever thought he'd be friends with- Enjolras.
Relationships: Enjolras & Grantaire (Les Misérables)
Kudos: 6





	Stuck at Hogwarts

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to write a story about being stuck somewhere during a hard time. I also wanted to write a story about 18 year olds being goofy 18 year olds, and thus this was born!  
> Do not worry, i do not mention any deaths, any actual sickness, and do not mention the current pandemic by name. This is not to erase what is happening, but provide respite from it, and offer a hand to those stuck at home, same as me.  
> beta'd by the lovely Char <3

“All I’m saying is that wizard worries are _vastly_ more hilarious than muggle worries. Dude, losing sleep at night because your enchanted umbrella is singing too loud? Muggles don’t have those problems!” Bahorel, a proud Gryffindor, leans across the table, a wide grin slapped across his face. “Loud neighbors, sure, but a singing, tap dancing umbrella? Absolutely unfathomable.” He takes a bite of a cupcake, blue frosting smearing onto his chin. “What do wizards really worry about?”

Grantaire smiles around a bite of his dinner, this time a bit of bread and ham. Dinner time was always a feast. The great hall would fill with delicious smells and every student would happily dig in. Being a Gryffindor, Grantaire normally sat with his housemates dressed in scarlet and gold, but he was known to sit at the Hufflepuff tables on occasion. “Passing the N.E.W.T.s, apparently.” He gestures with his fork to possibly the only Gryffindor who studies at the dinner table. Enjolras was a stubborn boy, but also a dedicated one, and apparently was having trouble in one class or another.

Bahorel leans back and opens his mouth to shout down the table. “Enjolras! What are you studying for? Have some sausage!” The table erupts into goodhearted snickers but Enjolras doesn’t even seem to realize he’s being talked to as he stays intently focused on his reading. His workspace is neat, stacked tall with scrolls of notes he’s written in his scribbled handwriting.

“Leave him alone, you great buffoon.” Combeferre, Enjolras's best friend and probably his only link to the rest of the student body, fires back with a wry grin. Bahorel and Combeferre had a strange relationship where they shouted insults at each other but still were good friends despite it. “Can’t you see he’s trying to pass charms? Or is the pumpkin juice rotting your brain?”

“Eat shit, Ferre!” Bahorel boomed. His laughter earns a stern look from the table of teachers, enough to duck his head slightly and lean back into a normal sitting position. Not even Bahorel risked getting yelled at by the head of Gryffindor house. “Isn’t charms your specialty, Grantaire?”

“No?” Grantaire says mildly.

“Sure it is. You had the top marks in charms for the longest time.”

“That definitely didn’t happen.”

“It did! Don’t act coy, Grantaire, you’re really good at charms. You should help him out.”

“Help out _Enjolras_?”

“Who else? I’m sure he could use your wise guidance.”

Grantaire doesn’t even entertain the idea. “Aren’t wizard kids supposed to be better at wizard stuff?”

“I think that’s… wizard racist?” Bahorel shakes his head. He reaches for a sausage with his fork and chews thoughtfully. “Is that wizard racist? I dunno. Dude, they’re learning just like us muggle kids. I mean, I’m half and even I struggle with most things they teach here. I spent more time with my mom after my parents divorced and still learned more about the wizarding world over the years at Hogwarts than at home.”

Grantaire takes a minute to consider this. By this time in the grand scheme of things, wizard bloodlines were pretty gray, and it more had to do with how you grew up and what you knew and how nice you were to others. Of course, teenaged kids still found a reason to form groups and judge others, but it wasn’t ever really about purebloods vs muggleborns. Thank god. A plot point like that would surely not stand up over time.

“What could I possibly teach a guy like him?” Grantaire asks.

Bahorel looks confused. “Charms? If he doesn’t pass his N.E.W.T.s, he’s basically screwed in the career department. I mean, we all would be, but like, he cares. I think it’s nice that he has a fatal flaw.” 

Grantaire finishes his dinner with the thought stubbornly bouncing around in his head. Grantaire has always admired Enjolras, to the point of idolization in their younger years, when Grantaire had singled him out as what a wizard should look like; the complete antithesis of what Grantaire was. Since then, there had been a lot of time to stop that thought process entirely. Grantaire was a perfectly fine wizard, thank you, regardless of how he was the night to Enjolras’s day. Now he sort of quietly looked up to Enjolras as just a cool guy. He was cool, after all, even if it was in a sort of dorky way.

Later in the common room, Enjolras was still trying to study. Grantaire didn’t know how many hours Enjolras spent bent over his scrolls but it was clearly too many. It was a bit rowdy tonight- it usually was- as the first years practiced their levitation spells and the third years tried to make the floating feathers explode. Enjolras kept looking up, shooting annoyed glances at his fellow housemates like this was the library and _they_ were the misplaced ones.

A feather explodes over Grantaire's head, raining ash into his hair and pulling a string of giggles from a group of third years. Grantaire has a mean resting face; the kind that terrifies the first years, and it didn’t help that he was the oldest seventh year student in Gryffindor. The first year who owned the feather that is now dusted all over Grantaire’s shoulders looks positively frightened. He offers her a kind smile and makes an exaggerated wand movement to summon another feather for her. There was a pot of them just for this reason. The school rather fancied a few missing feathers over burned textbooks or pillows.

When Grantaire looks back to Enjolras, he’s shooting him a glare like _Grantaire_ had been the one to make the feather explode. Grantaire grins widely at Enjolras’s sour face. He's just about to stand up and ask if Enjolras actually wanted to go to the library when a loud voice rose above the noise.

“Attention students. Attention.” It was the invisible loudspeakers, magically enhanced with the booming voice of Headmaster Honeylemon echoing through the common room. The loudspeakers reached every inch of Hogwarts. “Please return to your dormitories at once.”

That was never a good sign. The joy and playful atmosphere died as the Gryffindor students fell quiet and unnaturally still. A few moments later, a group of Gryffindors were ushered in through the doorway, the tail end being brought up by none other than the head of Gryffindor herself, a tall woman named Faye Morganwood. The enchanted suit of armor next to the door- affectionately dubbed Arthur- stood straight as she arrived, gripping his spear tightly. Professor Morganwood looked like a quidditch player with strong arms and a mean frown to anyone who deserved it. Every other day during the week, she taught astronomy in the northern tower. Today she looks pale and worried.

“Everyone here? Prefects-?” Professor Morganwood asks.

“Everyone is here, Ma’am.” The Prefect reports. 

The students are confused, murmuring to each other. “What’s going on?”

“Is everything okay?” The voices started to overlap each other.

She raises her hands, palms towards the students. “Silence, please. Everyone, it is with my deepest empathy that we explain to you the current situation rising in the muggle world. Surely you’ve heard rumors of it before. An illness is rapidly growing and it is Hogwarts’ responsibility to prevent it from taking hold here at school.” She pulls a crumpled looking scroll from her deep violet robes. “As such, there will be new rules implemented.”

Protests immediately burst out from the students. “What? No way!”

“It’ll never reach us here!”

“It’s all fake news!”

“Silence! I’ve seen the reports myself, and trust me when I say these rules are put in place to protect every teacher and student here at Hogwarts. Every rule I read now must be followed to the very last letter, do you understand?” Professor Morganwood says. Her voice is loud and commanding, but never biting, and it draws the Gryffindor’s attention like no other voice can. “Good.”

The rules were as follows:

  * Students must return to their dormitories immediately after dinner and stay there. Astronomy class will continue at night. The students will be escorted to and from the North Tower by Professor Morganwood.
  * Quidditch is cancelled until further notice. If students wish to go outside onto the campus grounds, they will be escorted by a teacher.
  * Trips to Hogsmede are cancelled until further notice.
  * N.E.W.T.s will continue as planned.
  * New hygiene and well-being guidelines will be described to you by your Head of House. These must be followed. 
  * Every student must see the infirmary every morning to receive a cleansing spell from Madame Pomfrey.
  * Students are forbidden from sending or receiving letters. Owls must remain in the owlery. Students with communicating charms are encouraged to contact their families.
  * Breaking any of these new guidelines is punishable by detention or in-class suspension.  
  




The Gryffindors sit in stunned silence as Professor Morganwood rolls up her scroll and tucks it away. “Any questions?” She asks. Her hair is noticeably unkempt today.

“Professor… I don’t understand.” One student protests, looking upset. “You can’t _cancel_ quidditch! How does that help _anything_?”

Professor Morganwood looks more disappointed by this ruling than the students. “Reducing injury rates, however little and however harmless, will be a good step, I promise. Quidditch isn’t cancelled forever. Just until further notice.” She smiles gently, and stands up tall. “I expect every single one of you to follow these rules. I will ask the seventh year prefects for reports on your behavior each week. I assure you the school is safe and will continue to be safe as long as we follow these preventative measures.”

“This is so unfair,” someone mumbles. “Cancelling Hogsmeade just before the weekend, how cruel.”

Morganwood sighs. “Yes, but that doesn’t mean we can’t make the best out of it anyway. We are Gryffindors, aren’t we? We are brave and kind, and will do what we can to protect ourselves and others. Depend on one another. Now, if you have any questions or complaints, you all know where my office is. That is all. Good evening, my little lions.” She departs, her robes brushing against the doorway as she leaves.

Arthur the suit of armor next to the doorway nods as if she had delivered a most compelling battle speech. “Better listen!” It squawks. “Better listen to the rules!”

“Hush up, you great pile of tin.” Someone mutters. “Can’t you see how unhappy we are?”

“The rules!” Arthur repeats.

Students sullenly drift to their bedrooms. Some have anxious, tight faces, and others are speaking in quiet and comforting tones to each other. Eliza Duke, the third year team seeker, looks about two seconds from tears. Grantaire glances from side to side before subtly flicking his fingers and magicking a pillow from the couch into her arms so that she can cry into it.

“Oh, Miss Duke, please don’t cry.” The fifth year prefect says, putting an arm around Eliza’s shoulders. “You’ll play quidditch again soon, you’ll see!” He says over Eliza’s hiccups.

Grantaire’s feet have turned to lead. His heart sits frozen in his chest as he feels the change shift around him, in the soul of his classmates. It's hard to name the feeling, but Grantaire doesn't like it.

Restlessly, he stands, trudging all the way to his own room. In typical dorm fashion, Grantaire shared the room with 3 other seventh year boys: Bahorel, a boy named David, and their friend who wished to be called Tybalt. The bedrooms were large spaces with wooden floors. The rugs at under the beds were decorated with golden tassels. At the foot of each bed was a large trunk with the initials of each student, and by the head of the beds was a nightstand, carved from the same dark wood that the beds were made from. The bedposts were tall, decorated with lion carvings and deep red curtains.

Grantaire liked it here. It was comfortable, cozy, quiet, and above all else, it was _private_. Well, about as private as it could be at Hogwarts. Grantaire hardly ever found true privacy. Most days he didn’t mind the company and often enjoyed the laughter of his friends. It could be a little hard on the more down days to never be alone, but Grantaire’s friends had a lot of time to get used to reading his moods.

"Hey, Grantaire. Heard the news?" Bahorel is laying on his bed, arms crossed behind his head, looking grim. He’d let his dirty blond hair get a little more than shaggy lately. 

"Yeah. How do you feel about it?"

Bahorel shrugs. "I'm being upset about it now so I can be strong for the lowerclassmen later. They're so little, you know? They must be scared."

Grantaire sits on his own bed. "Yeah. Eliza Duke was crying." It's times like these where he wished he was closer to the younger kids in Gryffindor so he could do more for them.

"Aw, little Lizzie? Poor girl, her heart must be in pieces. She'll miss out on the last few quidditch matches this year."

Grantaire nods, picking at the sheets. Bahorel continues to stare up at the ceiling. Bahorel is the last person most people would think of when they hear the word "serious"; his nature was one of enjoyment, of amusement, and he was always in good humor. Not everyone in Gryffindor liked him, but he lived without fear and had strong faith in the friendships he had.

But Grantaire knew him better than that. Bahorel was rowdy and excitable, but he was thoughtful as well as incredibly compassionate and selfless. It made him an excellent friend and an even better roommate.

Grantaire lays back, head pressed against the pillow. He'd be fine, he was sure. Hogwarts had been his safe place for seven years. He will follow the rules Professor Morganwood told him, so there was no concern there, and they were so far away from any muggles Grantaire doubted they’d have any trouble.

But… What about Eponine?


End file.
